#solo crème

[semena--mertvykh]

Gros Big Up - suite et fin

@ RedIsDead, qui synthétise généreusement pour moi, je cite : "Dans le fond, il y a 3 situations possibles : 1) Sexy est en couple et fidèle, 2) Sexy est en couple et infidèle, 3) Sexy est célibataire et il s'envoie tout ce qui bouge. Aucune de ces situations n'est une bonne nouvelle pour toi" => Stadire que, pour que çà marche entre nous, il faudrait que Sexy ait fait vœu de chasteté ? C'est bien çà, ta logique ?

@ Cantex, qui me demande "T'es sérieuse ? Tu vas vraiment tenter la thèse ? Te connaissant, j'imagine que tu as un plan B ?" = >

Chère Cantex, merci pour tes encouragements :)

Tu baisses les bras toi devant l'obstacle, sans essayer au moins une fois de le franchir ?

Il n'y a même pas de question que je dois le faire. Un jour, quelqu’un va venir avec un spectre musical tellement large qu’il va ratatiner la concurrence, et une liberté de ton soudée à la garde qui va ringardiser tout ce qui s’est fait avant, et il/elle va me prendre les sujets sur lesquels j’écris depuis des années, et çà va me rendre malade.

@ anonyme qui me demande : "C'est quoi le délire avec ton pseudo ? Mertvykh çà fait un peu penser à "merdique", lol !!!"

Mais tu as le droit d'avoir les références culturelles de ton choix, anonyme...

Alors pour une fois, je n'ai pas d'histoire pour ce pseudo. C'est juste que, parfois, sur YouTube, je tombe sur cette proximité :

et là, comme dirait un bon ami à moi : léger début d'érection...

@ snakeplissken qui me demande "plus de gifs avec Sylvester Stallone" =>

source : Rocky My Beloved

[sarahalainn]

Polymanga - Suisse. Quelle organisation ! Quelle gentillesse ! Quelle patience !

Chère Suisse, vous m’avez séduite ! Merci infiniment.

Les Suisses sont vraiment polis et gentils (j’ai été surprise d’entendre les jeunes dire "volontiers" à la dédicace).

Merci encore ! Quelle salle ! Vous étiez tous magnifiques ! J’espère avoir encore l’occasion de jouer devant vous.

J’ai pu être moi-même grâce à un environnement très amical et positif. J’ai ressenti la même chose en rencontrant le public, ce qui est sans doute une caractéristique de la culture animés/jeux vidéo.

Je me suis vraiment senti à la maison et j’espère que je pourrai régulièrement revenir en Suisse.

Thank you for such a warm welcome... especially when my voice failed me.

The concert on the first day was changed literally at the last minute to a talk show with a phenomenal solo performance by Benyamin Nuss - saved the day!

One week after the convention and I am still recovering... I had a full anime/VGM vocal repertoire ready just for Polymanga, but due to "extinction de voix", I could only play the violin on the first day. One was my original piece "Animus", and I decided to play "Isabella's Theme" from "The Promised Neverland" too. Everything was improvised on stage - didn't even know what Benyamin was going to play but conveniently all his pieces were linked to very personal experiences I had with Japan. But people were so kind to say things like they discovered different sides to me. I somehow managed to talk, a lot more than what was originally planned!

It was difficult to accept that my voice completely disappeared (hasn't really happened since I was 13 in Australia?) especially after an extremely smooth rehearsal. But gosh the team who also do the Montreux Jazz Festival were la crème de la crème ! Their professionalism is truly unrivaled. Not to mention the completely improvised shows... so intuitive. No one knew what was going to happen over the next 2 days.

À la dédicace le premier jour, so many Xenoblade fans came. Those who attended the second day will know I tried to sing just one excerpt of the ending theme "Beyond the Sky". The second day was originally meant to be a talk show, but I was still doing everything I could to sing and somehow managed to squeeze a few tunes out, including "Eight Melodies" from “Earthbound” (ou ‘Mother’ en japonais) and "Isabella's Lullaby" TPN. Again on the second day, I had no idea if I could sing and when I would do so, so a huge bravo to the team who were on point!

My throat aside, I was surprised at how comfortable I was talking to you on stage and in person. Maybe it was a language thing. Maybe the Swiss/Polymanga audience were just so nice. Maybe the questions you all asked were interesting and different! I was able to be myself. Such a positive, friendly environment. I felt the same vibe from many of you too. I guess we all owe that in part to the anime, game, culture world.

I hope that there will be another opportunity to perform for you again.

I felt so at home that maybe one day in the future I'd like to call Switzerland a second home!

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

Sleepless

“Hold the door!” A familiar voice shouts from the platform as you board the metro.

Smiling, you stick your arm in front of the door and watch as Seokmin runs to you. He gives you a sunny smile as he hops into the train car, and you take the empty window seat across from each other.

“Cutting it close again,” you chide. It’s impossible not to smile back at him — today is a gloomy, drizzly day, and you have quite the train ride before arriving at your destination, but he makes you feel warm.

“Well,” he says, rummaging in his bag before pulling out a paper-wrapped object and handing it to you, “it is not without just cause.”

You unfold the paper to reveal a powder-dusted croissant studded with almonds. “Almond crème?” You exclaim, looking at him with shining eyes.

“It’s the only choice, really,” he says, echoing your own words from your first breakfast hangout months earlier, zipping up his bag.

You hold the croissant up to his nose. “You get the first bite,” you say.

“But it’s your favorite!” He protests.

“I don’t see a croissant for you,” you say sternly. “Now bite it. I’m hungry.”

He shrugs resignedly and bites into the croissant, giving a thumbs up. “Delicious,” he says.

You eat some of the croissant yourself. It’s perfect. You close your eyes in delight and Seokmin laughs. “I love watching you eat,” he says. “You never hold back.”

You blush. “I didn’t realize I was being so ostentatious.”

He is quick to reassure. “It’s wonderful, truly,” he says. “It’s actually quite cute.”

You blush harder. His eyes are wide and earnest behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and it’s a performance day — so his hair is combed back like a prince’s, perfectly complementing the aquiline shape of his nose and his regal, high cheekbones.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, bringing you back to earth. You realize that you were staring, and shake yourself a little.

“Yeah,” you say, in an attempt to be breezy that comes out breathy and forced, “I think I’m just nervous for the solo today.”

His eyes soften. “You’ve worked so hard,” he reminds you gently. “You’re going to be incredible.”

You feel a lump in your throat at this praise. “Thanks,” you say, clearing your throat. “Are you nervous?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but I’ve practiced a lot. I think I’ll be okay.”

You nod, watching him carefully — knowing he is prone not to talk about his feelings for fear of being burdensome. But he does seem fairly calm, not fidgeting or avoiding eye contact like he does when he’s nervous. You relax a bit.

The metro gets more and more crowded the further you travel. When a pregnant woman with a small child boards your car, Seokmin immediately stands up and gestures her into his seat, and you stand and help the little boy into yours. The two of you grab the overhead rail, bracing yourself for when the train moves.

A couple stops later, an inebriated man stumbles into the train. His eyes immediately latch on you, and he takes a lumbering step forward, pointing at you with a dirty fingernail. He says something in French, so slurred that you can't understand him.

And then the train lurches forward. In a swift move, Seokmin pulls you into him, almost like you're dancing, and turns smoothly to put himself between you and the man as he stumbles yet again, colliding with Seokmin's broad shoulders.

You feel the impact against Seokmin's chest, but he is holding you at the waist so tightly and his feet are planted so well that you both keep your balance. Seokmin looks over his shoulder -- peering around his arm, you see that the drunk man has fallen over. An older man, probably in his 40s, helps him into a seat and speaks some stern words to him in French. He nods at Seokmin, who gives him an uncertain nod back, smiling hesitantly, and then turns to look down at you.

With one arm, Seokmin is holding you against him. With the other, he is reaching above your head and holding the overhead railing. As you look at each other, Seokmin's cheeks go pink, and he releases you. "Sorry," he says.

"No," you blurt, "I mean, thank you. If you hadn't have done that, I might have gotten hurt."

He looks down at his shoes in a rare shy moment. "I'm glad you're not hurt."

The rest of the train ride passes in silence. That moment of closeness has brought up feelings for Seokmin that you're convinced anyone who spent any amount of time with him couldn't help having. Because honestly, you think to yourself, how could you not fall in love with him? Not only was he physically beautiful, with a smile that could probably convince flowers to grow in the winter, but he was funny and silly without ever being mean, easy-going and temperate, and incredibly kind to everyone. He listened attentively, responded to things he didn't understand about you with curiosity and empathy, and showed genuine care for you in every situation. You have to constantly stop yourself from brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, from leaning your head on his shoulder, from holding him too tightly whenever he gave you one of his soul-healing hugs. Thinking about how he had protected you, even from something so minor, makes your heart ache with a desperate longing for him.

He interrupts your daydreams once again. "That's our stop," he says, and you nod. You get off the train with your violin case, headed to the square where your concert is to take place. Seokmin says goodbye at the barricades -- he has to go meet up with his fellow singers, but before you turn to leave, he grabs your hand. "Good luck," he says, grinning at you, and sneaking a quick kiss on the back of your hand before releasing it and running off.

You try not to think about that as you warm up and rehearse with the other orchestra members. Then, with only an hour left, you find a quiet corner to rehearse your solo. Your fingers remember the notes perfectly -- all the practice has paid off. You enter the concert feeling confident.

Many people have gathered on the outside steps of the Opera Garnier, around the barricades, to hear your group play. The chorus students begin their song, and you accompany on your violin as planned. Then, Seokmin steps forward for his solo, and you pull out your music.

His voice is just as powerful and sweet as ever as he begins the opening phrases of Nessun Dorma. You try not to cry when the chorus chimes in, and Seokmin steals the show with his beautiful high notes. Then, it's your turn. You feel eyes on you as you play a solo arrangement of the refrain of Nessun Dorma, one that you wrote yourself. As you finish, the crowd claps loudly, and you find yourself looking for him -- for Seokmin, knowing he'd be watching, hoping he'll be proud of you.

When you finally see him, he is looking at you already. You think you see, across the performing space, a tear sliding down one cheek, and he is beaming at you, his eyes full of some extremely deep emotion. You have to fight off the sudden urge to run to him and kiss him on the mouth in front of all these people.

After the whole show is over, he finds you. He takes you in his arms, and you feel him rest his chin on the top of your head, cradling your neck in his hand. "You were amazing. I couldn't help but cry," he says, his voice soft.

You pull back and look at him. Even now, his eyes are looking a bit brighter than usual. "I'm so glad you liked it," you say, and before you can stop yourself, you brush a falling tear from his eyes.

He gazes at you, searching your face, seemingly lost for words, before finally saying, simply, "walk with me."

And you do. You walk with him through the darkening streets of Paris with one hand in his, the other gripping your violin case. Just his hand in yours has started shivers down your spine, and you try to be normal as he interlocks his fingers with yours after awhile, making it clear he isn't letting go. You don't speak until you've passed into view of the Seine, across the river from where the Eiffel tower stands, glittering in the darkness.

He turns to you and takes a deep breath. Somehow, the streets are empty, so there is no one around and nowhere to look but you. He looks at you for a few more seconds before he says it. "I love you," he says.

You feel your eyes go wide. Seokmin gives a nervous chuckle, running his hand through his hair feverishly, before going on. "I love you, and I don't know if there's any way I can avoid talking about it anymore. These past few months have been the best months of my life, but they've also been torture. I'm in an impossible position. It's either tell you all of this and risk losing you forever or never say anything and absolutely burn up inside." He leans against the railing of the bridge you're on, seemingly agitated.

He turns back to you. "The only reason I'm saying anything," he says, leaving the railing and stepping closer to you, "is because you might feel the same way." He takes your hand, looking into your eyes. "Do you?"

You feel a smile creeping onto your face as euphoria sweeps over you. "You love me?" you ask him.

His eyes have turned tender and soft. He gives you a soft, gentle smile as he answers, "more than my own life."

You can't help but throw your arms around him. He catches you instinctively, but then his arms wrap around your waist and he buries his face in your neck. He holds you for what feels like forever, and then he pulls back. Tilting your chin up toward him with his forefinger’s knuckle, he leans in just before your lips meet. He hesitates, then smiles, then brushes your lips with his - a test, one that leaves you breathless.

And then he kisses you for real. With his hand at the back of your neck, his lips meet yours again, gentle but insistent. He kisses you over and over again, his hands sliding from your neck to your waist. When you’re finished, you’re both breathless. Seokmin holds you close to him, brushing a hand over your hair and kissing the top of your head. Then he laughs. “We really went for it, didn’t we?”

You laugh and nuzzle into his chest. “Finally,” you agree.

[spicyvampire]

He pulled up onto his knees which were still straddling my stomach and fixed me with a stair, his brow knit with concentration and his finger pressed upon his thin but wholly sensuous lips. He was looking into my eyes yet seeing miles away, as if something great was puzzling him. I must admit then that all my eyes were doing was trailing down his thin and wiry frame eventually settling on his aforementioned cock. He burst into a single laugh, as was his custom when the game was afoot and regarded me with an expression of devotion “my dear Watson, a thousand apologies.” I could see him evade from the task at hand, to bring him back I simultaneously kissed him and placed my hand around his cock and started to work at it as if it were my own. Holmes placed his hands on the wall arching his back and exulted a baritone hum as I attended to my duties. As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more.

I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous. Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Elementary”, said he.

WHO IS WRITING SMUTTY JOHNLOCK FANFICTION IN MY ASK BOX ON A TUESDAY IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2024, IS THIS A LOVE LETTER????? IS IT HATE MAIL????????

[chrispineofficial]

He burst into a single laugh, as was his custom when the game was afoot and regarded me with an expression of devotion “my dear Watson, a thousand apologies.” I could see him evade from the task at hand, to bring him back I simultaneously kissed him and placed my hand around his cock and started to work at it as if it were my own. Holmes placed his hands on the wall arching his back and exulted a baritone hum as I attended to my duties. As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more.

I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous. Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm.

[captain-hawks]

Deeeeeeeee, I bring bad (maybe) news.

I did a piss-poor job (maybe) of plotting out the last thing you inspired my imagination with. …Wait, it was actually the first thing you blessed me with but it became the last thing in my yakuza!kita timeline.

So i’m just going to put it here and hope it makes sense. Do you remember back in the days of yore when it was slash fic that dominated the ff.net scene? That’s where i marinated for most of my fic-consuming life until tumblr introduced me to x reader type fic. This is a long-winded way to say that i realized in my futile attempts to Write The Thing that i keep accidentally leaving reader out and pretty much paired kita and osamu.

Sooooo. It ended up being yakuza!kita main + righthandman!osamu secondary + sidelined!reader being cucked and watching + giving direction while the boys put on a show for her (she puts on a solo show for them, teehee)

I’m sorry i couldnt make this a whole thing for you, i hope you’re not disappointed

🌻🌻kita-non 🫣

ohhh can i leave a thank you 😘 🍰 for dear sweet cheesypuffkins87? Her cake sounds amazing! I went to leave a msg for her but anon wasn’t on 😅

my dearest kita-non, you came here thinking you were bringing bad news??? when in reality this is the crème de la crème?????!!!!!! it's like the glorious grand fireworks finale that all of our entangled thots have been leading up to.

i'm going to sidebar quickly because oh my god FF.NET, "slash fic," THE OLDEN DAYS. yes. i must inform you that in this house we love yaoi!!! i primarily write x reader, but m/m character ships are 99% of what i read when it comes to fic.

anyway all that is to say that i'm actually climbing the walls with no sense of decorum over the thought of yakuza!kita + righthandman!osamu??? reader giving them direction????? me, speechless??? i thank you for bringing this concept to the table<3

[stillsolo]

@desiccation moved & cont. from [ x ]

– Teshin does not need to watch Han to notice how restless he is. Hunger gnaws at his stomach too but risking a journey down to the jungle floor was something he would rather avoid. While Teshin was more than capable of defending himself, it was not that which worried him. If the Infested came across him the entire hive-mind controlling them would drag a horde to their location, and not even the tallest branches of the trees would stop them then. – “When the sun rises we must move quickly. If we clear the trees before the Grineer awaken, walking across the plains will be unnecessary.” – How tiring this was for him, and completely unusual. If Han had been any other person from within the system then the chance of Teshin stopping to help him survive were slim. But, Han Solo was something else, for sure. He only hoped that this endeavor would not be for nothing. If there were other worlds out beyond the Sol system then maybe there was hope for the colonies that could not survive under the constant war between factions. – “I recommend trying to sleep, if you can. There is not much time left and you will need your energy.” – Though he does not take his own advice, restlessness is contagious and not even a Dax could be immune. Sitting back on his heels where he kneels, Teshin draws out a single Nikana. His gaze wanders over the blade and looks for the smallest of imperfections across it. Nicks are brought on from cutting through metal and bone alike. Even so, the edge still managed to continue on just fine and serve its purpose. Teshin was almost the same. Sharp and willing to kill, but not without his flaws. – Frowning to himself at the aching reminders of his wrong doings, the weapon is sheathed once more. Stray judgement of himself lead to the conclusion that he is no blade, because unlike the tempered metal, he cannot be mended. – Hearing the distant sound of a departing Eidolon draws Teshin’s attention away from himself and to the land laid out before them. Now there was no time to sleep. Rocking back on his toes Teshin stands up and looks down to Han. Seeing him in a daze and simply staring to the water below makes the Dax wonder if he is going to have to carry him out to the plains. – “It is time to leave.”

             ❝𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴,❞ 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙰𝚂𝙼 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝙼𝙰𝙽 who could use several days of uninterrupted sleep.  ❝feels like i’ve been losin’ my mind up here.❞

their descent to the forest floor was as han had predicted: leaden and tedious, more strain than it was worth, really.  by the time his boots hit the parched sod of earth, fresh blood saturated the sleeves of his tunic, blotting up the last of the already faded crème color.  anchored to solid ground, he could feel it now; thick and warm, crimson rivulets streaked down exposed forearms and wet his hands chilled by dawn’s early bite.

SITHFIRE—!  slapdash brushes over the singed fabric of his trousers produced him no favors, as what open wounds that had scabbed over amid the night split anew, dotting red beads over dirtied gashes—a perfect adhesive for dirt and filth.   great.   han wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but if the inhabitants of this backwater planet didn’t land him a snug resting place six feet under, an infection would.        should’ve known better.

although deemed inane in hindsight, han was quick to accuse both hunger and a lack of rest for his disquietude, yet soon found he couldn’t overlook the crash and the injuries sustained upon impact, the blood loss that had driven him to the very brink as he stared down at the dark precipice.  han pushed aside the thought, unwilling to recall balancing atop that razor-thin edge of life and death—a hairsbreadth away from no return—or TRINITY PRIME, and her incomprehensible feat—

   THE ERUPTION OF LIGHT WHICH SWEPT HIS MIND              REBORN, LIKE A PHOENIX, HE’D COME ALIVE AGAIN.

in the wake of stinging pain, crawling self-derision curdled into something borderline venomous.  for the first time since this ordeal began, han longed for the weight of his blaster in his hands, to wrap his fingers around its durasteel grip and welcome the comforting press of security at the back of his mind.

❝don’t suppose your pal could come back ’n patch me up?❞ solo groused as he reared both palms for a quick inspection, flexing flesh torn by the sharp edges of petrified bark.  ❝’been gone an awful long while.❞    they didn’t have much time.    by the look of it, earth’s imminent daybreak was scant minutes away, commencing a forenoon that allowed no sanctuary from the vigilant eyes of THE GRINEER.     first light would bode well for neither of them.

[abr]

Il generale Roberto Vannacci "ha avuto il merito di dar fiato, con prosa decente e argomentata, a idee alternative a quelle della crème" e dei "Parrucconi", scrive Vittorio Feltri sulla prima pagina del Giornale di domenica 5 maggio. (...)

Insomma, "la popolazione è assai diversa dall’idea di popolo che si sono costruiti nella loro testa Schlein e compagni, e inaspettatamente non è affatto rassegnata a lasciarsi espropriare il cervello da lorsignori progressisti", spiega Feltri, "i quali non riuscendo a sbarazzarsi razionalmente delle considerazioni dei conservatori, le qualificano come indegne di essere considerate umane".

Insomma, l'opposizione e gli esponenti dell'élite "pensavano di essere riusciti perlomeno a liquidare Vannacci come impresentabile nelle liste", ma così non è stato perché Matteo Salvini lo ha candidato come indipendente con la Lega. (al che) Vannacci è stato "sottoposto a trattamenti di chirurgia plastica, (...) deformandolo burlescamente come lo scemo del villaggio oppure mostrificandolo quasi fosse un velociraptor che mangia trans e africani, compresi i bambini, e poi ne sputa gli ossicini".

via https://www.iltempo.it/personaggi/2024/05/05/news/roberto-vannacci-vittorio-feltri-smaschera-elite-come-volevano-liquidarlo-39227800/

Ciò detto e sottolineato (il buon senso vince sempre sui quacquaracquà, è solo questione di tempo), come Feltri o Zaia anch'io NON VOTERO' VANNACCI perché non mi rappresenta: é un dipendente statale; con rispetto per dei Foederati - siamo antichi Fusionisti - ma distacco sia ideologico che socio-geografico, stava bene in FdI.

[pietroleopoldo]

As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more. I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous. Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Elementary”, said he.

Did I miss some copypasta while I was away

[mygainyear2024]

Day 18 Delayed

After not one, but two pastel de natas before my dance class at the gym, and a homemade sardine tosta I walked 5+ kms to my third language lesson via Clarice, in Alvor, for a proper latte ☕️

I tried to video the garbage collection system near my apartment but failed in my timing. The collectors were also looking at me strangely as I held my phone up to film!

I did get a better shot of the cute dog that looks out over the neighbourhood with interest. I had a brief chat with the owner to confirm he's only two. Noticeably, there are lots of dogs, as well as learner drivers and pastelarias.

After the fun language lesson, practising conversation starters and replies, I had an interesting conversation with a retired fireman, Gary from Ireland 😉 I noticed Gary at the first lesson. He seemed broodish, but I think he may be an introvert, if that's possible for an Irish man? Although my depth of experience with Irish men is limited to one!!! (Yes kids, I know he had a problem with alcohol and you thought he was gay, BUT he did make great duck fat baked potatoes!) Today Gary came with his lesson notes neatly stored in plastic sleeves in a folder, but he said "que interessante" with as much enthusiasm as a wet fish. Rebecca asked him to be a bit more animated. I think his interest must have peaked in me when he heard me saying, in terrible portuguese "sou impragada do estado" which translates to "I am imprisoned by the State". I'll need to check this with Rebecca at the next lesson, I'm sure there's a better way to say "public servant". I'm also "dona de casa" which means investment property owner, but it also means housewife!

Gary wanted to give me lots of advice about superannuation. I’m sure he was well intentioned but I feel quite informed 😂 Sadly the teacher is taking a break next week so I’ll miss Gary, but I’ll ask around, apparently he is a member of a walking group and I need to do some more walking 😜

I’m now getting ready to have dinner with Rosie at Restaurante F in Praia da Rocha. She’s messaged me this afternoon to invite me to a book launch tomorrow night at Irish Rovers, que interessante!! She also said “We will also go tonight to listen to the band after dinner” Stay tuned….

So dinner at Restaurante F was pleasant. I had high expectations (from the number of Facebook comments after I posted the request, “recommendations for best restaurant with ocean views and I don't care for steak!) and also when I saw the selection of breads being wheeled around on a trolley and a separate aperitif menu. The bread (cornbread, pumpkin bread and plain) and two butters were delicious, the shared prawns ok and my first cataplana of octopus, clams and sweet potato (Algarve stew cooked in copper or stainless steel pot) tasty, rounded out with the shared crème brûlée and bottle of rosé, not cheap comparatively at €50 each. But, the company was definitely worth it. Rosie regaled me with fabulous stories about her relationships and the number of suitors she has at the moment. And as a supplier of gummies to some of her cruise tour members (it’s legal in Canada)😂 She certainly lives an exciting semi retired solo life.

We then went to Irish Rovers, and yes that same bartender made a beeline for Rosie and started his lines on me. I reminded him that he'd already made me a cosmo last week and I'd heard his BS! Later I did give him a hard time about how long he'd been using those lines on women at this pub (six years!) and had it ever worked (no) and I suggested it might be time to come up with a new strategy. The band were pretty dreadful, actually it was mostly the lead singer that did have Rosie and I in stitches. His voice was not loud enough to be heard over the instruments (probably for the best), and I couldn't work out if he was Irish, Portuguese or another nationality. Rosie said he looked 100! Are white singlets on tattooed older lead covers' singers still a thing? And he was drinking red wine. It was too many contradictions for me to manage, given I don't go out to these kind of venues at all. I did say to Rosie twice that a strong female lead would fix this situation. Rosie knows the owners, Martin and Jenny. They weren't pub owners in Ireland, but have owned Irish Rovers for 10 years and according to Rosie it's the most successful pub in the Algarve. Martin was in the band on keyboard (and I thought he could actually sing) and Jenny was behind the bar. At one point she quickly came over with three shot glasses of some creamy beverage and said a hurried hello, downed the shot, and went back to the bar. Apparently the book launch is for a Portuguese poet that Jenny doesn't know, but she wanted to be supportive, stay tuned...

Rosie did tell me about a fantastic Thai massage she had, so I've tracked down the salon and the therapist and booked myself in for this afternoon.

[octoberloved]

He pulled up onto his knees which were still straddling my stomach and fixed me with a stair, his brow knit with concentration and his finger pressed upon his thin but wholly sensuous lips. He was looking into my eyes yet seeing miles away, as if something great was puzzling him. I must admit then that all my eyes were doing was trailing down his thin and wiry frame eventually settling on his aforementioned cock. He burst into a single laugh, as was his custom when the game was afoot and regarded me with an expression of devotion “my dear Watson, a thousand apologies.” I could see him evade from the task at hand, to bring him back I simultaneously kissed him and placed my hand around his cock and started to work at it as if it were my own. Holmes placed his hands on the wall arching his back and exulted a baritone hum as I attended to my duties. As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more. I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous.

Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Elementary”, said he.

what the fuck did i just read

[miyuhpapayuh]

As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more. I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous. Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Elementary”, said he.

wtf is this?

[coconutgirlsgotasurfcrush]

As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more. I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous. Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Elementary”, said he.

Did you mean to send this to me? It looks like you had a first part but I didn't get that one...

[albertserra]

He pulled up onto his knees which were still straddling my stomach and fixed me with a stair, his brow knit with concentration and his finger pressed upon his thin but wholly sensuous lips. He was looking into my eyes yet seeing miles away, as if something great was puzzling him. I must admit then that all my eyes were doing was trailing down his thin and wiry frame eventually settling on his aforementioned cock. He burst into a single laugh, as was his custom when the game was afoot and regarded me with an expression of devotion “my dear Watson, a thousand apologies.” I could see him evade from the task at hand, to bring him back I simultaneously kissed him and placed my hand around his cock and started to work at it as if it were my own. Holmes placed his hands on the wall arching his back and exulted a baritone hum as I attended to my duties. As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more. I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous.

Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Elementary”, said he.

Just had a really good blood orange cocktail

[abimee]

first on the docket for the academy is Parlsey, a 31 year old clubber and college dropout who gets inducted into the academy after meeting one of the headmasters at a bar. Her short stature, at 4 ft 3 inches, is due to a genetic condition passed through her family that limits the length of her arms and legs. Her favorite activites before coming to the academy included drinking, fashion blogging, video games, and making grotesque meal concepts to try out to the distate of others.

She is an ''undifitiable human" with her skill being hair, which she can braid into up to six unique arms that all work independetly of one another. She can alter the size and length of the arms, but has to untie and re-tie every braid to adjust the length. She has grown her hair out to be longer than her body to maximize the potential for these arms, but it comes at the cost of a lot of split ends, which in turn can make the hands very fragile and easily damaged by things like heat, making them useless for things like cooking. She doesn't know where she got this ability, but she's had it since she first started growing hair on her head, and was often shaved bald as a child to keep her from performing any antics with this ability.

shes brought into the Hall of Sorcery as an attempted alchemist, but due to her passion for drinking and awful cooking she is often prone to making random and inconsistent concoctions For The Hell of It, and rarely has a successful (in her teacher's eyes) creation. However, she considers her own work simply ''avant garde, and a little batshit'' and refuses to give up on her own process -- its this drive that has landed her in the spotlight of one of the other teachers in the hall of sorcery, a wizard who thinks she would fare better in the realm of spellcrafting, a more free-form study of chemicals than alchemy.

Parsley becomes fast friends with the two other recruits that came to the academy the same time as her --- the ghost student Thi being her closest friend of the group, and they share a living quarters together since Parsley wanted to bunk solo but was forced to have a roommate, and Thi roams the night to haunt the halls and so isnt a roomate thats around much. Parsley's favorite food is mashed potatoes covered in ketchup, and her drink of choice is a Crème de menthe poured into a can of Sprite

[miumiugler]

Celebrating Black photographers during BHM

The interminable month of January is ending, bringing February to a close and kicking off the festivities of Black History Month. From February 1 to March 1, black culture from all diasporas will be in the spotlight.

This practice dates back to 1926, in the United States. Born to formerly enslaved parents, historian Carter G. Woodson is the second African-American man to receive a doctorate from Harvard University. Heading the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, he proposed creating a week devoted to the history of black communities. In 1960, the festivities were extended to a full month. In 1976, Black History Month was recognized by the U.S. government.

As a photography enthusiast, I'd like to honor two black photographers I discovered during a visit to 180 Studios in London, where their work was exhibited.

Gabriel Moses

Aged 24, Gabriel Moses has an oscar worthy portfolio featuring the crème de la crème, having worked with Dior, Burberry, Adidas, Apple, Manchester United… He has built up a substantial client base over the years. Having started out as a self-taught photographer and videographer, his career took off at the age of 18 when he directed an ad for Nike, at 22 he became the youngest photographer to shoot the rapper Pa Salieu for the cover of Dazed magazine.

Much of his Nigerian cultural heritage is highlighted in his work in the form of family photographs, as are the women. Gabriel Moses pays homage to the women in his entourage who introduced him to the world of fashion and art.

Referring to Malian photographer Malick Sidibé as his inspiration, his work is characterized by textured effects and deep, dark tones, his models embody characters and his creations tell stories.

His first solo show, Regina 'A salute to women', took place last year at 180 Studios in London, and featured 50 of his creations, including shorts films.

Campbell Addy

Campbell Addy is a British-Ghanaian artist and photographer based in London. He draws inspiration from his culturally diverse upbringing, his work embraces distinctive narratives and genuine emotions, emphasizing unique casting choices that showcase underrepresented faces.

Addy established Nii Journal, a platform that embodies the representation he envisioned in shoots with friends and peers. Additionally, he founded Nii Agency, where he recruited diverse faces for casting and modeling, crafted to question conventional notions of beauty, it presented an alternative viewpoint on the definition of beauty and style within our contemporary fashion industry.

Since then the 29-years-old creative has worked for leading titles with artists as models such as Tyler The creator, FKA Twigs, Bukayo Saka, Beyonce ... and was chosen by Edward Enninful to capture his Time magazine cover.